Of Stupidity, Duvets, and Silent Apologies
by Remy Beauregarde
Summary: John has a bad day. Sherlock is considerate for once. Better story than summary says.


**Why yes, yes I did reference the episode where John punches Sherlock in the face. I also referenced another story. It might be called ****The Blue Duvet****. I'm not completely certain. But it's a very good story. It has 25 chapters and is one of my favorites. Go read it and review it. And do the same for mine, PLEASE? Constructive criticism is **_**always**_** appreciated. Plus this is my second story, so please be gentle. Thank you :3 ~ Remy B.**

John Watson was having a very long day. It was one of those days when he finally understood Sherlock's constant opinion that everyone was stupid. He had numerous cases of hypochondriacs and their children, people who depressed beyond belief, and a fairly exciting case of the flu. He wanted to jump from – no he wanted to throw people off of the roof because of their grating stupidity. He wondered briefly if this was how Sherlock felt when he was irritated.

He was only at hospital an hour and a half after he arrived at the hospital when Sherlock texted him.

_Are you particularly fond of your blue duvet? – SH_

_Sherlock, if have blown up, cut up, or damaged my duvet in __**any**__ way I will kill you. – JW_

_But you're a doctor, John. You help people, not harm them. – SH_

_I __**do**__ have bad days, Sherlock. – JW_

_And this is one of them? – SH_

_Good deduction, that. – JW_

John tossed his phone back into his drawer and went to the nurse's station to get another case – hopefully an interesting one.

Later on when he developed a headache he let himself wallow in a pool of dark blue pity. The blue reminded him of his duvet which reminded him of Sherlock's earlier text. He decided to text Sherlock and ask if he would mind being shot over a duvet? To which Sherlock replied:

_Don't do guns, John. Guns are dull. – SH_

_What if I thought of a complex plan that made it look like I was framed, but I wasn't? – JW_

_You would frame yourself? – SH_

_Yes. – JW_

_It would have to be very complex for me to be interested enough to solve it. – SH_

_But you would be dead so you wouldn't be able to solve it. – JW_

_I would leave clues so even __**Anderson**__ could solve it…No, wait. I wouldn't want Anderson touching my dead body. – SH_

That thought made John shudder with disgust. "I wouldn't want him touching your dead body, either," he thought, then wondered if that made him sound strange. Before he could respond he was called for a broken leg. "Well, my evening is looking better," he thought.

When John left around 11:00 he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was fall into bed…and then remembered his duvet. He decided he would shoot Sherlock in the morning. Maybe he would commandeer Sherlock's duvet tonight since his was most likely compromised. Besides, the detective wasn't going to sleep tonight because of a triple homicide Lestrade gave him. It involved a pair of women's undergarments, blue indelible dye, and pepper spray.

This was the fourth night Sherlock hadn't slept. One of these days John was just going to say, "Sod it all!" and force Sherlock to sleep even if John had to sleep in the same bed.

After hailing a cab John sank into the seat and rested his aching head on the head-rest. He tried not to doze so he could make sure the cabbie took the most direct route. He didn't think he had the energy to scold the man. John was relieved when they arrived at 221B and threw some cash through the window to the cabbie. He wanted to get to bed as fast as possible.

As he reached the landing his nose picked up the scent of Chinese and his mouth began watering while his stomach growled audibly. He opened the door looked around. He called for Sherlock who entered from the kitchen as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up.

John smiled wearily at his friend and said, "I smell Chinese."

Sherlock gestured toward the kitchen. "You said you were having a bad day. Usually you're exhausted after a bad day so I thought you might enjoy a bit of takeaway."

John smiled again and nodded. Sherlock turned around and went back to the kitchen while John followed. At the sight of the steaming food he felt such love for his friend well up in his chest that he couldn't restrain himself. He threw himself at Sherlock who had only half a moment to remember he should probably catch John before he was rocked back onto his heels with the force of the hug.

"John?" Uncertainty and a bit of concern were in his quietly rumbling voice.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John's voice was muffled in Sherlock's chest. He knew this was probably awkward for Sherlock, but the man could stand a little affection now and then. Three seconds later he withdrew to the other side of the table. As he stared at the food a moment he said a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for Sherlock and the food. He also asked Him if He could get Sherlock to get milk once in a while, nothing too difficult.

When he looked back up he saw Sherlock still looked a little concerned.

"It's all right. I'm just very happy with you. This was very considerate of you." Sherlock's face relaxed some. John suddenly remembered his decision to kill Sherlock in the morning over his duvet. He reconsidered that, but was firm about commandeering his friend's bed.

"Have you finished the case yet?"

"Yes. Hours ago. It was the transvestite, Frankie, who shot the other two. He had blue dye specks on his left wrist. He loved Danny and was jealous of Danny's relationship with Lucy. He made his own costumes and dyed them. He left tiny flecks of dye on Lucy when he killed her. She grabbed his wrist when he attacked. Danny heard a Lucy scream and ran to her aid. Frankie had a gun that drew when Danny entered. He pulled the trigger before he knew who it was. Shocked he turned the gun on himself, thus ending his life also. The footprints leading from the room were of a bystander who ran when he saw the murder. He wore similar shoes as Frankie and the pepper spray was his, he had dropped it. He was wearing gloves, which was why the police couldn't lift any fingerprints. "

During Sherlock's explanation John started eating. He had also put food in front of Sherlock who ate and continued talking through bites.

"And the women's undergarments?"

"Frankie planted them in Danny's apartment hoping that Lucy would dump Danny when she found them. However, the couple knew about Frankie's obsession and ignored his feeble attempt." Sherlock snorted at that last bit.

"Well, glad that's over with."

"Mmm."

John and Sherlock finished their meal and put the leftovers in the fridge. As they got ready for bed John contemplated how to go about commandeering Sherlock's duvet. He decided to just wing it.

And wing it he did.

Sherlock's door was open and he was just pulling his t-shirt over his head when John walked in. He settled on: "Right, since you damaged my duvet I will be using yours until you get me a new one."

Sherlock's face remained blank. "Fine. I sleep on the left…mostly." With that he slipped under his duvet and watched John expectantly.

John was speechless. He recalled thinking that he would have slept in the same bed with Sherlock to make sure his friend got some sleep. He never really thought that would happen so soon. He shrugged and went around to the right side.

As he got into bed it hit him that this was Sherlock's apology. He would never let anyone share his bed unless he really cared for them. The meal was also part of his apology. He knew about John's bad days and what would help. Sherlock truly cared for someone, no matter what he said about caring.

John turned to Sherlock and gave him a wondering look.

Sherlock sighed and asked why John was looking at him and if he was going to kiss him.

"I've seen couples who look like you do right now and that's always what happens when they look at each other."

"Honestly, Sherlock, I could kiss you right now. You have made me so happy. You annoy me, stress me out, insult me, but today you've made up for a lot of things in such a simple way. You are the best friend I have ever had." John was probably making said friend very uncomfortable by showing this much feeling, but he didn't care. Sherlock needed to know that he was loved and appreciated.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock was indeed uncomfortable and squirmed when John said he could kiss him. "I'm glad that I could assist you in such a way that would improve your mood." he continued haltingly. "I have only one request on my part."

"Yes?"

"Shoot me. I don't think I could stand being kissed."

John rolled his eyes, grinning, and sank under the duvet while Sherlock turned the light off and scrunched up into a ball on his side.

~ 3 ~ 3 ~

John woke up to a weight on his upper body. He looked down and saw Sherlock's head resting on his chest. Somehow Sherlock had managed to sprawl across the bed, half on John and half not. Let it be known that Sherlock was fairly heavy for his size.

Softly, conversation from the night before floated through John's mind. Something about shooting Sherlock because he didn't like kissing. John grinned mischievously and placed a gentle kiss on his friend's head, barely touching his lips to the curly mass.

Sherlock didn't stir.


End file.
